


Catch Me When I Fall

by xeneurotics



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu Gets A Lil Insecure & That’s Okay, Fluff, M/M, Really Not Much Angst I Hate Sadness, Sex Is Mentioned But Not Had, allusions to homophobia, literally just fluff, the tiniest bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:27:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25910557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xeneurotics/pseuds/xeneurotics
Summary: “You make me coffee,” Sakusa says, like it makes sense.Still a little shell-shocked, Atsumu breathes out a soft, yet incredulous, “What?”
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 57
Kudos: 615





	Catch Me When I Fall

“Omi-kun?”

No reply.

Atsumu figures he’s asleep; Sakusa usually always is. If he turns his head just a fraction more he’d be able to see his boyfriend’s gorgeous mop of jet-black curls splayed haphazardly against the surface of their pillows. They’d gone shopping for those together, Atsumu’ll have you know, and it had been _the most_ domestic thing he’d ever done with Sakusa in his entire lifetime.

Sakusa had only just begun to be open to the idea of cuddling in bed, it was usually separate blankets and feather-light touches, as it is now, and not because of the germ thing — although it was _partly_ down to that — but simply because (and Atsumu denies this insinuation _heavily_ ) Atsumu is a pretty aggressive sleeper. Sakusa had said he only hated it on occasions where he was startled awake by Atsumu’s arm cutting off his oxygen where it laid over his throat. Atsumu denies this too. 

_“It’s just my arm, Omi-Omi! Surely yer exaggerating just a bit—“_ he remembers saying.

_“You are a professional athlete, Miya.”_ Sakusa had responded evenly, expression unwavering.

Atsumu had relented. 

“Omi-kun?” he tries again, finally settling onto his side. Here, Sakusa is fully in view, curls and all. Atsumu’s eyes follow the angle of his shoulder, the slope of his back and every line of lean, rippled muscle underneath the skin before his gaze meets the cotton duvet cover. _Jesus_ , he’s pretty — he’s always been pretty, since the first day Atsumu saw him, but sometimes the sheer aesthetic beauty of his boyfriend ( _boyfriend!_ ) just hits him like a ton of bricks when he’s least expecting it. 

He wants to kiss him.

And ordinarily, he _would_ , if—

“ _What_ , Miya.” 

Atsumu nearly jumps. His heartbeat thunders loudly in his ears. “Thought you were asleep, Omi-Omi,” he says, voice soft, and perhaps a little apologetic.

Sakusa sighs and turns on his back. He ignores his statement in favour of rubbing his eyes and blinking up at the ceiling, stretching his wrists until a satisfying _click!_ resonates throughout the bedroom. “What is it.”

“Um.”

This time, Sakusa’s expression changes. Just a little. Not that Atsumu sees it.

“Miya.”

No response.

“For the love of— Just spit it out, I’d actually like to sleep sometime tonight.” Sakusa pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes again, fingers interlaced and hands placed neatly over his abdomen. 

When he lays like this, Atsumu likes to remind him that he looks as though he’s supposed to be laying in a coffin. Sakusa nearly always responds with something like, _‘if you don’t shut up, the coffin might be the better bed.’_ and Atsumu just laughs and pecks his shoulder, watches the corners of Sakusa’s mouth tilt slightly upwards in the beginnings of a smile.

He’s pretty when he smiles, too.

There’s a pause, and Atsumu hesitates. He’s unsure how to go about putting this without sounding like he’s joking — because he’s _always_ joking.

Eventually, slightly exasperated, he simply settles on: “What do ya like about me, Omi-kun?” 

Sakusa’s reply is instantaneous. 

“Nothing,” he says dryly, “You like yourself enough for the both of us. Go to sleep, Miya.” 

Atsumu had wanted something of an honest answer, but he’d been expecting _that_ — something so utterly _Sakusa_ that it almost makes him laugh. It always does. Well, usually. 

Not tonight.

Tonight, Atsumu is eerily quiet, and Sakusa is becoming increasingly unsettled.

Suddenly, Sakusa shifts, props himself up on his elbow and looks him dead in the eyes. Atsumu notes that he does seem very tired, and feels a touch guilty for keeping him up for such a stupid reason as this. But Sakusa is pretty when he’s sleepy, too.

“Okay, what the _fuck_ is going on with you?” his tone is piercing. Atsumu wants to recoil, like Sakusa will see into his soul or something, see the admission that hasn’t quite left his lips yet. He doesn’t.

He averts his eyes instead, and stares at a particularly interesting spot on the wall just past Sakusa’s forearm. “I, uh—“ he begins, “Well—“

“For fuck’s sake—“

“Okay!— _Okay,_ Omi-Omi, I mighta’ gone on Twitter—“

“And?” 

“ _A_ _nd_ ,” Atsumu pauses, again, “well, y’know, we have our own hashtag ‘n all, didja know that, it’s pretty cool—“

“The _point,_ Miya.”

“Right, uh, well, I mighta’ clicked on it. Maybe. And it was just a buncha nice stuff at first but—“

Sakusa exhales a frustrated sigh. “You know I don’t give a fucking crap if they’re being homophobic or something, Miya, you _know_ that.” 

“I know!” he defends, waving his hand about as if it added any kind of volume to his statement. “Just let me finish, anyway, but then I saw this one tweet and I can’t remember exactly what it said so I’m prob’ly gonna butcher it or somethin’—“

“I have half a mind to shove my fist in your mouth right now. Get _on_ with it.” Sakusa sounds irritated, and Atsumu can see the frustration painted clear as day on his face. But there’s an element of worry in his expression that Atsumu is surprisingly unfamiliar with — and he knows he made it sound dirty on purpose, he knows he’s waiting for him to take the bait, one last test to see if he’s pulling some sort of long con or complicated prank, because _“honestly, you never know with you, Miya.”_ Sakusa had said that to him not long ago, after he’d successfully mastered one of his more epic ones with the assistance of both Bokuto and Hinata. 

He’s stalling, and he knows he’s stalling. He really ought to stop. 

Stop stalling. 

Right.

“It just—“ he deflates. He hates how grossly vulnerable his voice sounds. It’s the fucking darkness, he decides, it always does something to him, and Sakusa’s fucking beautiful fucking face looking at him with _actual concern;_ it’s not fair.

“Atsumu.”

Atsumu yawns. “Nevermind,” he says, voice a little shaky as he turns onto his stomach and lays his head in the opposite direction. Sakusa’s awkwardly crunched expression deepens; his gaze hits the back of Atsumu’s head.

“Miya,” he says, voice gentler. “ _Miya_.”

“Mm?” Atsumu hums lazily in reply. He can still hear his heartbeat in his ears and his eyes are squeezed shut, face embarrassingly flushed with heat. 

Sakusa exhales again. “Just.” He sounds pained. Atsumu hears him shift too, onto his back again (he thinks, anyway, the sound is too short for him to have gone all the way back around). “Stop sulking and come here.”

Atsumu immediately protests, “I’m _not_ s— wait. What?”

He blinks. Once, twice.

“ _Don’t_ , Atsumu, I know you heard me.” 

Shocked out of his mind, he makes one more move to insist that he repeat his words but Sakusa shuts him down with a strained, “No.”

So, Atsumu turns back into his side. Sakusa doesn’t look at him. He only waits. 

“Omi—“

“Shut up.”

“Do ya still—“

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

Sakusa grits his teeth so hard Atsumu swears he hears his jaw click. “ _Yes._ ” 

Finally, Atsumu moves, scoots over until his chest is pressed against Sakusa’s bare shoulder. He feels Sakusa’s shuddering intake of breath and immediately halts. “Are you—“

Sakusa cuts him off, grabbing his arm and yanking him sideways, effectively draping Atsumu awkwardly over his body. Atsumu, in turn, lets out a loud, undignified yelp as he falls, but he breathes out a whisper of a laugh and makes haste to readjust himself. 

He lays his head comfortably on Sakusa’s chest, one leg bent between Sakusa’s and the other (kind of) straight, still relatively on his side of the bed. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, though. Sakusa still sometimes won’t let Atsumu touch him at all during sex, so the fact that they’re even _attempting_ to cuddle right now is _huge_. 

“If—“

“I know,” Sakusa replies, shortly. “You really think I’d have any problem telling you to fuck off, Miya?”

“Atsumu.”

“ _Atsumu_ ,” he amends. 

“No,” is Atsumu’s answer, though it wasn’t really warranted. Both Atsumu and Sakusa himself know he’d never have a problem with telling Atsumu to move if he got uncomfortable the same way Atsumu would never have a problem with moving. 

Atsumu exhales. 

He almost just blurts the whole thing out in its entirety, but what comes out of his mouth instead is, “I don’t know where to put my hands.” 

And Sakusa _laughs_ at him — full-blown, _loud_ , honest, laughter. The vibration of it against Atsumu’s ear sends him straight to cloud nine. He grins in return, feeling all the tension in his body evaporate into the air, carried away by the lingering melodies of Sakusa’s voice that cling to the breeze filtering in through the bedroom window. 

Taking note of the arms wrapping around his back, Atsumu adjusts a little more, and Sakusa grunts out a faint, “Watch your fucking elbows, idiot,” before he settles into a comfortable position. Sakusa holds him tight; tighter than Atsumu thought he would.

“‘Tsumu,” he murmurs, voice laden with drowsiness. “What did it say?”

“Mm? _Oh_.” Atsumu had almost forgotten about it. Almost. The warmth of Sakusa’s body keeps him grounded, and he traces idly over his boyfriend’s collarbone with his finger as he speaks, “It, y’know, was just a buncha stuff about how I’m hot ‘n all—“ (Sakusa rolls his eyes at that, before he finishes) “—but being good at volleyball is, like, my only re- uh- redeeming, i think, my only redeeming personality trait and god knows how ya put up with me or somethin’ like that—“

“Your only redeeming personality trait,” Sakusa parrots back, carefully. “Not to be confused with your extensive vocabulary, of course.”

“ _Omi-kun_.” 

“What?” Sakusa shrugs, a slightly awkward jerk of his shoulders that Atsumu’s always found endearing, as if he doesn’t get what the fuss is about. “You know that’s just a bunch of crap, right?” 

When he’s met with silence, Sakusa narrows his eyes. Atsumu tenses.

“You _do_ know that,” he repeats, a bit slower, “ _right?_ ”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Sakusa grits out, frustration ebbing back into his voice. “First of all, being ‘good at volleyball’ is hardly a _personality trait_ , and we’re not even going to talk about that wording because— _good_. Good. That’s stupid. A middle schooler could be _good_ at volleyball—“

Atsumu, truthfully, has never heard him talk so fast in his life. This, _this_ , is — on every level — already so _unlike Sakusa_ , even if he is only getting worked up over the fact that they’d said he was _‘good’_ at volleyball—

“...nd fucking _secondly_ ,” Atsumu hears him say, tuning back in after getting over the initial shock of _Sakusa Kiyoomi_ talking (ranting) so animatedly at half past one in the morning. “ _Secondly_ ,” Sakusa repeats, enunciating every syllable of the word like the point that followed was sure to be the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard in his life, “are you really implying that I’m only with you because you’re _hot?_ ”

— Nevermind.

“So I _am_ hot?” Atsumu teases, though it’s less of a rile-up and more of a feeble attempt to retain some composure. It fails.

“Were you ever under the impression that I sleep with you out of _pity_ , Miya?” 

Atsumu holds one hand up, eyebrows raised. “Okay, okay, I surrender, Omi-kun.” 

“Good.” Sakusa’s tone is harsh, but this time it’s not particularly directed at him. 

Atsumu closes his eyes. “So,” he starts, stomach twisting in anxiety, “yer not?”

“Not _what?_ ”

“Just with me ‘cause I’m hot.” 

Sakusa grunts like he wants to slam his head into a brick wall. “If I _wanted_ someone to ogle at all day then I’d go onto fucking pornhub, you _idiot_.” 

“Yeaaah, but I’m too hot for pornhub, Omi-Omi,” he replies lightly.

“ _Stop it_.” Sakusa forces the words out through gritted teeth, tensing beneath his boyfriend’s body and relaxing again, but Atsumu feels his heart momentarily stutter when Sakusa’s hand raises to cradle the back of his head. “Stop it,” he repeats, softer, tired, _exhausted._

Atsumu wants to break down and cry.

“Dunno wha’ ya mean, Omi-kun,” he mumbles quietly against his skin, trying his _goddamn best_ to keep his voice as level as possible. If Sakusa notices the way the nickname slightly wavers on his tongue then he doesn’t say anything. 

Instead, he only hums, because he can feel the wetness of Atsumu’s tears on his chest already. 

“Are you fucking _crying_ , Miya?” he says, but his words hold no ridicule, only complete astonishment. Atsumu doesn’t answer.

Sighing, Sakusa gingerly cards his fingers through Atsumu’s hair — a small, light motion, as though he’s testing the waters of physical contact. He is.

“Trust you to get all dramatic about stupid shit like this,” he mumbles, slightly embarrassed. Stupid, _stupid_ Atsumu and all his unexpected quirks. He can’t even call it that.

Of _course_ this moronic, self-absorbed asshole would _actually_ insinuate that _he_ was the one who _wasn’t good enough_ for _Sakusa_ ; what the _fuck?_

Seriously. What the fuck. 

Gradually, Atsumu calms down, silent shaking devolving into small, wobbly breaths out of his nose, lips pursed shut in an attempt to seal any noises that bubbled up in his throat. The mere sight of _Miya Atsumu_ , slightly curled in on himself but nonetheless draped (rather unceremoniously, now) over his body, crying more than he’d ever seen him cry in his life over some _dumb tweet_ , makes Sakusa’s stomach twist painfully.

He holds him tighter. Atsumu sniffs.

Then he stills, and jolts upwards like he’s trying to knock someone’s teeth out (notably, Sakusa’s) — “Shit—“ he curses, in a panic, wiping his eyes rather aggressively, and Sakusa is at a total loss for words until Atsumu continues his frenzy with, “tears— um, _germs—_ I’m so s—“ 

“ _Stupid_ , Miya. You’re stupid,” he deadpans. “Lay down, you fucking moron.”

“But—“ Atsumu tries to interject, eyes wide, glassy, and horror-stricken.

Sakusa groans in frustration. “Tears _literally_ kill bacteria.” He tries not to kiss him; he’s really trying, but he didn’t know Atsumu would look so pretty after he cries. He settles for, “and I’d kill _you_ right now if it weren’t two o’clock in the fucking morning. Lay _down_.” 

God, stupid Atsumu always being respectful of his boundaries and his stupid germaphobia, being scared shitless of giving him a germ-induced panic attack after he’d just— 

“Sorry, Omi-kun,” he yawns, nuzzling ( _nuzzling_ ) back against his chest like he belongs there. 

He does. _He does_. 

“I’m shit at this kind of stuff,” Sakusa croaks out suddenly. Atsumu moves his head just a little bit, like he’s trying to look up at him but is too tired to follow through with it. 

“Hm?”

Swallowing, Sakusa gathers his thoughts and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I—“ he clenches his jaw. _Why is this so fucking hard_ , he’d admitted it just fine after Atsumu confessed those seven months ago— _God. No,_ thinks Sakusa with a slight grimace, _I really didn’t_.

In actuality, it had been more of a muttered _‘me too’_ that sounded way too rushed to be real. He’d gotten the message across much clearer when he kissed him, though, so there’s that.

He’s startled out of the memory by the gentle brush of Atsumu’s fingers against his jaw, coaxing him wordlessly to relaxation again. “‘s okay, Omi-kun,” Atsumu promises, “I wanna sleep now.”

Sakusa pauses like he’s considering it. He isn’t.

“I really like you,” he says, in one breath. His heart is hammering in his ribcage, and he knows Atsumu can hear it. “You’re annoying. You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met in my entire life. But I like you.”

Atsumu stills completely.

“You make me coffee,” Sakusa says, like it makes sense.

Still a little shell-shocked, Atsumu breathes out a soft, yet incredulous, “What?”

“You make me coffee. In the morning. When you first made it, it tasted so bad that I spat it out and had to clean the countertop ten times over. You,” Sakusa frowns, slightly regretting his decision to start speaking in the first place, “you made ten cups that same evening and told me to take a sip of each one, and tell you which I liked better so you could make it like that every time.”

Atsumu huffs out a light laugh that tickles Sakusa’s skin.

“The next day, I had a perfect cup of coffee,” he finishes.

“ _Oh_. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And the ones after that?”

“Equally so. _Most of the time_.” Sakusa rolls his eyes, and Atsumu’s laugh buzzes against his chest.

Grinning, the blond resumes his task of tracing Sakusa’s collarbone with his fingertip; Sakusa wants him to kiss it instead.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Miya,” he says, with absolutely no bite to it. Like it’s just a fact. Perhaps it is.

“Ain’t that a little contradictory, Omi-Omi?”

Sakusa barely masks his smile. “So you can say contradictory but not _redeeming_?”

“Lis’n, I was panickin’,” Atsumu attempts to speak as a yawn forces its way up his throat and he cuts off with a _very_ charming ( _not_ ) noise of fatigue.

“Mm. You’re annoyingly gentle, though.” Sakusa continues, too sleepy to bother being cautious with his words. “Really, it’s _so_ fucking infuriating I want to strangle you and kiss you at the same time.”

“Technically—“

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”

“I’m your _boyfriend_ , Atsumu, whatever dirty joke you had planned can wait—“

“Well, I actually had _two_ —“

“No.”

“ _Kiyoomiiiii_.” Sakusa can hear the pout in Atsumu’s voice. He rolls his eyes, but his heart skips a beat just as it always does at the sound of his name rolling so easily off of his boyfriend’s tongue. 

Sighing warmly, he shakes his head and combs through Atsumu’s hair with his fingers. He’s a little more confident in doing so this time. “If you’re trying to lighten the mood for my benefit, you don’t need to.” 

Atsumu seems slightly taken aback. 

“I want to say this now, so these stupid twitter people whose opinions you hold in such a high regard can stop making you cry.” The sentence is strained, like his voice is trying not to crack; his rhythm is slightly off, and it’s so unfamiliar that— 

_Holy shit_ , Atsumu realises with a jolt. 

He’s never heard Sakusa sad before. 

Until now.

“Omi-kun?” he tries, gently.

“I’m tired,” Sakusa responds. 

His boyfriend’s lack of an answer tells Atsumu everything he needs to know. Surprisingly, though, Sakusa even clarifies it for him after a beat of silence.

“I don’t like it when you cry, Miya.” 

The soft words sound slightly awkward coming out of his mouth, but it’s so completely _Kiyoomi_ that Atsumu wants to burst, he wants to _actually_ burst.

His heart swells with unbridled affection. “I— Omi-kun, can I— can I kiss you right now, I really just, I gotta—“

Sakusa responds at lightning speed, “Yeah, yeah, just, don’t, your hands—“

“I gotcha, lemme—“

“Wait no, you can—“ Sakusa pauses, amidst the rushed mumbling. “You can touch me, if you want.”

Atsumu blinks.

Then, he lifts himself up so he’s straddling Sakusa’s waist, hesitantly reaching out and slowly cupping his boyfriend’s face in his hands. Sakusa’s breath hitches. 

“Ya good, Omi-Omi?” asks Atsumu, but he doesn’t let go. 

Sakusa nods, placing both his palms over the hands on his cheeks. “Yeah, I’m fine, just—“ _Kiss me_ , he was going to say, but Atsumu beat him to it, cutting him off with his mouth.

Atsumu tastes like peppermint, tingly on Sakusa’s tongue, warm against his lips. Kissing him is always so, _so good_ , however he does it, whether Sakusa’s having a particularly bad germ-day or not. Either way, Atsumu complies with his every ridiculous demand without an ounce of judgement and kisses him like it’s the last time he’d ever get the chance to. 

He can taste the slight saltiness of his tears too, he notices. Sakusa loves it, all of it, he loves it so much. 

“‘Tsumu—“ he tries to mumble, but Atsumu swallows his words with his lips and tongue, thumb running slightly along Sakusa’s jaw like he wants to kiss him there too. Heat pools slow and steady in his stomach. Damn him, honestly. “ _Atsumu_ , hey— _mmh_ , too tired—“

Reluctantly, Atsumu pulls away, and his lips look so kissable that Sakusa almost leans in again. Almost. 

“‘M gonna collapse pretty soon, Omi-Omi,” he murmurs, eyes still fixated on his mouth.

Sakusa raises an eyebrow. “You could’ve fooled me, there.” 

“My bad.” The blond grins, wholly unapologetic. “Can’t help it, y’know.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Sakusa’s tone is blunt, “but I’m too tired to fuck you at two o’clock in the morning.”

There’s a teasing smirk masked by Atsumu’s smile that he would’ve missed had he not been looking for it. Horny bastard.

“ _Sleep_ , Atsumu.” It's meant to chastise, but Atsumu’s grinning at him and it’s _hot_ and Sakusa just can’t keep a straight face. “Cut it _out_ ,” he complains weakly, “Lay the fuck down so I can close my eyes, stupid.” Atsumu doesn’t even look like he needs to ask what he means; the subtext is there, clearer than if it were written in bold behind the irises of those beautiful honey eyes. 

Eventually, Atsumu does lay down, returns to his side of the bed. Sakusa misses his warmth but he’ll probably regret that thought when he wakes up with a broken nose and Atsumu’s hand in his face, so he lives with the loss. 

“Oh,” he says, before he forgets. “Tell no one.”

Atsumu barks out a laugh way too loud for the early hours of the morning. “I won’t if you won’t.”

“Right.” 

Assured, Sakusa yawns and folds his hands back over his stomach, adjusting minutely until he’s comfortable. 

He pictures Atsumu’s smile in his head. Images of pearly white teeth and red, spit-slicked lips splash across his vision; somewhere along the line they become intertwined hands and cuddles on the sofa. Sharing a bag of popcorn. 

He hates sharing food. But he loves Miya Atsumu.

Their small desk clock ticks softly in the background as their breaths even out in tandem. He’s drifting, slowly, slowly, to sleep.

The last thing Sakusa hears is a soft, mumbled, “ _I like you too, Omi-kun_.” 

With that, he falls. And dreams are there to catch him.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> HEYO. I’m Maeve & I’m new here— hey. If you liked this fic please please /please/ leave a comment, I’d really like to hear what you guys think! If this sounds awkward as fuck it’s because I spent all night writing this and it is now, uh. 7AM.
> 
> Anyway, I’m currently working on something a little (a lot) longer, I just wanted to write something short first & I’ve been in SakuAtsu hell lately — so. I made a tumblr if anyone wants to follow & interact with me, it’s @/xeneurotics!
> 
> Until next time, yeehaw ✿


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